Of Butterflies and Dead Rockstars
by Breaking Bunnies
Summary: Who needs bullies or crushes or pony princesses from other worlds to complicate matters when you're already being haunted by the ghost of a world-famous drummer? AU of the Equestria Girls verse. RariShy and RainbowPie.


Inspired by "Dude, That's My Ghost!", a show I'm not really all that fond of. Why? It needed lesbian pony girls. Obviously.

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"So you're saying he wouldn't like my salsa?" Pinkie Pie asks, spoon still hovering above the guinea pig's head.

"I feed him those peppers for his eyesight." Fluttershy's explanation, however, must have been swallowed up the yips and whines of Boston Terriers, for after three black-and-white furballs have scurried outside and the back door has been closed, she turns around to see George lapping furiously at the dollop of chunky red.

Her eyebrows lower. The pink girl floating in front of George—who doesn't seem to mind the hot sauce, nor the fact that to him the spoon is floating unaided—gives a helpless shrug and smile. _"Whaaaat?"_ (Upon hearing that one stretched syllable Fluttershy decides she's gotten up too early) "Your ears don't magically repair themselves once you're dead, y'know."

Although whatever part of Fluttershy that loves herself—no, the part that's selfish, that wants to tell her to take out the stupid hair pin and give herself a few hours of silence (minus the zoo in her kitchen, basement, and bedroom), is so bogged down and gagged Fluttershy is hardly aware the thought has been silenced.

__(And somewhere in a different dimension a yellow pony is dreaming about being crowned the element of kindness.) __

Still, the girl that floats in front of her looks no different that she did yesterday, and considering that she was run over, what she's spouting about not being able to manipulate the state of the self after death... mayhaps not be_ entirely_ true. Not that Fluttershy would ever accuse Pinkie Pie of lying to her, but if she can't change anything, one thinks the ballon brushed in blue over her eye would at least look less glittery.

Fluttershy steals across the kitchen, careful to not slip through Pinkie Pie as she pulls the bottles of fish oil and multivitamins, water and yogurt, out of the refrigerator next to the counter on which her befuddled guinea pig sits.

"He seems to like it well enough!" she tries to underhand a dollop to him, but only manages to splatter it all over his nose and onto the floor. Fluttershy says nothing, hands her a fistful of napkins from the basket by the cutting boards before Pinkie Pie can even sheepishly smile.

"Please tell me you used actual veggies and not frosting or something to make that."

"Yes!" Pinkie Pie cross her arms, sticks out her bottom lip. "I mean no. No on the frosting part." Her booted ankle has twisted around Fluttershy's bunch of napkins; her leg stretches to the mess on the floor. Long as a garden hose and wiggling like a ictus-struck worm. "I am capable of making not-baking stuff, you know."

"Oh, __(I can't be too sure with you)__, I know, but sometimes you're a bit...forgetful." Fluttershy rips off the lid of her yogurt. Pinkie Pie glides across the kitchen, reaches through countertop and pulls out a spoon for her.

This is another routine moment that hits her like a train-although at this point, since it is again so routine, a rather dull train, like it's a toy train a little cousin has goaded her into lying in the path of- she's taking a floating spoon from a ghost she can see owing to the ornate butterfly pin in her hair, a neon plush toy atop too much lace that she wears in hair that hasn't even been combed yet, wearing a polka dotted robe that's old enough to have belonged to Fluttershy's deceased mother when _she_ was in high school.

With that kind of scene a normal event, how can one not be insane?

Well, she has three dogs, a cat, a rabbit, a pregnant ferret, and enough birds to make a choir anyway. The ghost of a teenaged rock starlet drummer isn't too much of an upset to the system.

__(A yellow pony is also remembering dragons and cracking bear necks) __

Fluttershy gobbles up her yogurt and swallows her pills- two fish oil tablets, a multivitamin, a diet pill for energy, a red and white one for anxiety. The doggies are pawing at the door and food bowls need to be filled, litter boxes cleaned, essays printed out. Above the kitchen table, the ghost-balloon-animals that Pinkie Pie must have been up making the night before suddenly burst, startling Fluttershy so greatly she nearly slips back into the oven and definitely spills her water all over herself. The back of her throat burns.

The day begins.

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__Spotlight effect.__

There are little suns under the skin of her cheeks, a stab of pain between her ribs. Paper crunches as she snatches fulvous airplanes out of the air, quite literally spawning two more for each one as Pinkie Pie spouts a plethora upon plethora of limbs, humming to herself from the hooves of the Wondercolt statue, arranged in both an imitation of __Vishwarupa Darshanam__ and an efficient paper airplanes making and deploying machine.

Grab, grab, grab, stuff them in skirt pockets already pretty full with baggies of feed. She has to drop the crumpled flyers just to crumple others, which certainly isn't helping her recite her mantras

_(___No one is-!)__

__(People will-!)__

__(Embarrassment isn't-!)__

so she just loops _s___potlight effect___, _breaks it down into components so she won't wonder if anyone in the crowd of freshly-released morning buses is staring, how she'll explain to Guy why they'll both have to stay late at the animal shelter and eat all the volunteer donuts themselves. Again.

__Noun. The psychological phenomenon where...__

Chirp, chirp. Blue eyes raise towards the sky.

Fluttershy breathes a sigh of relief as she spots the varicolored flock racing towards her, spearing planes mid-flight as they swoop down towards the invisible source, pilling upon the stack of flyers in Pinkie Pie's like ants on a sandwich. Pinkie Pie's brows quirk at the few little songbirds who land on some of her throwing arms, who look at her and chirp as angrily as they can muster, daring her to move.

"Good morning to you too!" she replies. Then she turns back to Fluttershy, whose back is still to her, pulling the paper from her pockets and smoothing them best as she can against her knees whilst keeping the others at her axilla in place. "You're never going to get any volunteers unless you get the word out there, Flutters!"

Pause.

Fluttershy holds her bunch against her chest, spins on her heels, and stomps back to the statue, gently shooing the birds away with apologies and thanks.

Then she slaps her catch atop the pile in Pinkie Pie's lap and yanks it all away. "Please give me some space."

"I-"

"Please. Don't. Talk."

The chubby ex-drummer retracts all the extraneous limbs, plops her chin onto one of the originals. The other slips into her mess of curls, pushing the brim of her cerulean top hat down into her vision as she searches her scalp with sounds like a shaken drawer full of bolts and marbles. Finally she pulls out a sign much bigger than her, a blinking-bulb-lined arrow on the end of a stick, the words "Love Interest Incoming" dancing inside.

Fluttershy is on her knees at the base of the school's statue, however, her eyes upon her backpack as she removes a rabbit and teacup kitten.

That lovely, familiar call of, "Fluttershy, dearie!" comes at the exact moment something hits Fluttershy in the head.


End file.
